Shirtless In Chicago
by Len
Summary: He often doffs his hat--but what kind of cause would Fraser take his shirt off for? References to fic 'Revenge of the Taxidermist'


Shirtless in Chicago  
  
by: Len  
  
rating: G  
  
pairings: hints of Fraser/Med and RayK/NFC  
  
spoilers: none. After COTW  
  
teaser: A response the question posed on the RedSuitsYou list--what kind of cause would Fraser take his shirt off for (or words to that effect)?  
  
Archive: Sure - just let me know where.  
  
Feedback: is more fun than a barrel of Pemmican.  
  
URL: Sekhmet's Sanctuary @ http://www.geocities.com/sekhmet_poppy/home.html  
  
  
  
*^=^=^=^=^=^=^=^=^*  
  
"Frannie, dontcha got something else to do? Like elbow people out of the way at the Macy's sale?" Ray Kowalski grumbled and glared at the two files on his desk.  
  
Francesca Veccio paused for a minute, her pointed finger frozen in mid- air. Then she smirked. "There is no sale at Macy's, Ray, and you're not going to get out of it that easy."  
  
The blond detective groaned and allowed his head to fall on the desk with a thump.  
  
"Besides," she continued, "It's for a great cause. This place donates every year."  
  
"Money, Frannie. They donate money. And money is one thing; that's fine- you take a happy little Hamilton out of your wallet, stick it in a jar, and you've done your good deed. Why can't they do that this year?"  
  
Frannie leaned against a filling cabinet, assuming her best wheedling expression. "Raaayyyy, a work auction could make a lot more for the Children's Hospital than donations. Although," she added perkily, remembering her sales pitch, "participants are still welcome to donate as much as they like."  
  
"Look." Ray gestured to the stacks of file folders that covered his desk. "This is called paperwork. People who work have to do it a lot. If I don't get rid of it, it will decompose, turn into a new life-form, and start wanting it's own cartoon show. Aw, jeeze," he commented, realizing what a depressing picture he had painted.  
  
"C'mon, it's only, like, one night out of your entire life."  
  
"It'll mess up my social life," he complained.  
  
"Like you have a social life," she retorted.  
  
"Funny, Frannie. I don't have the time, and I am not going to put myself up for sale to wash someone's windows. I don't wash my own windows."  
  
"That's true." She was momentarily stumped. What could Ray auction off? Chances were that he would either end up catching it on fire or somehow offending the bidder.  
  
The girls over at the Children's Hospital were friends of hers, and were well aware of how good Frannie was at bargaining. She was a natural choice to recruit volunteers for the auction. Huey had already offered to play a clown at a birthday party, Dewey said he'd mow lawns, and Welsh had agreed to donate a cheesecake. Now it was Kowalski's turn. Frannie had a brainwave.  
  
"Dancing lessons!" she shouted.  
  
"Shhhhh!" Ray hissed. "Will ya shut up about those? I'm not going ta offer to dance with just anybody. Can't I just buy someone a pizza or something?"  
  
"Only if you make it yourself."  
  
Ray's muttered reply was ignored. The brunette's attention was now drawn to the red-clad man entering the bullpen.  
  
"Hiya, Frase," she said flirtatiously.  
  
"Good evening, Francesca. Working late?"  
  
"Stay away from that one, Fraser," Ray advised, "she'll have you signed up for a month of baby-sitting before you can say what."  
  
Fraser looked politely curious. Before Ray could say any more uncomplimentary things about the auction, she jumped in, "It's a work auction for a charity. A children's hospital. Really charitable. You wanna donate a service?"  
  
The mountie watched her cautiously, waiting for a catch. Nothing came, she just looked up at his face hopefully with big brown eyes.  
  
"Certainly, Francesca. What kind of service should I donate?"  
  
Quite a few came to her mind, but she reminded herself that she was a good (sort of) Catholic girl and that her brother (sort of) was watching with that annoying smirk on his face.  
  
"Well, you could offer to cook a meal, or walk a dog or..."  
  
"Or?" Ray prompted.  
  
"Or you could just offer to do any chores the bidder had! Yes! That's it!"  
  
Ray sighed and picked up a stack of crime scene photos. "C'mon, Frase, you gonna help me here or what?"  
  
Fraser blinked. "Uh, yes. Certainly, Ray. However, I think that with the best interests of Canadian/American relations in mind, it would be most beneficial to be part of this function. Besides, " he added after a beat, "It's for the children, Ray."  
  
As predicted, the Detective's shoulder's slumped. "Yeah. Yeah, it's for the kids. May as well sign me an' Fraser up, Frannie."  
  
"Perfect!" Francesca gleefully printed their names on her list. "The children thank you, Ray."  
  
"Tell `em ta hold off on their thanks. I ain't doing it if I gotta wash windows."  
  
The woman's pleased smile turned sarcastic. "Yeah, well Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."  
  
"Um, Francesca, when exactly is the auction?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, it's on Saturday. Be at McGinty's by six thirty. And Benton?"  
  
"Yes Francesca?"  
  
She stood on tip-toes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for volunteering."  
  
"My pleasure."  
  
Frannie swayed out of the room, grabbing her coat of her desk on the way. Ray stared at Fraser. No blush. No head-tuck. No tug at his collar. Hmm.  
  
"Is something the matter, Ray?"  
  
"What? No! You get kissed, I get screeched at. Story of my life. Everything's normal."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Ah? What's that supposed to mean, that `ah'?"  
  
"Why, nothing, Ray. I was merely using it as a device to fill in what might otherwise be an awkward silence."  
  
Pause. "Ah."  
  
"I recommend you make a note of the auction on your calendar, Ray."  
  
"You think I'm going ta try skipppin' out or what?"  
  
"Of course not Ray. It's just that I've found that being aware of one's future engagements can be-"  
  
"Fine!" Ray grabbed his desk calendar, flipped to the appropriate day, and scrawled it in. "Now I can count down the days."  
  
"Hmm," Fraser replied, somewhat absent-mindedly. Ray looked up and saw that he was gazing in the direction Francesca had gone. He rolled his eyes.  
  
"Aw, jeeze."  
  
*^=^=^=^=^=^=^=^=^*  
  
"There's really nothing to worry about, Ray," Fraser said calmly, watching his partner pace between tables on the auction night. The blonde shook his head.  
  
"You don't understand, Fraser-this-" he gestured around him, "It's junior high all over again."  
  
Fraser raised his eyebrows. "Are you saying you spent your middle school years in a bar?"  
  
"No, Fraser, I did not spend my middle school years in a bar. But this whole auction thing..." he trailed off. Fraser waited expectantly. "It's like picking teams. Y'know, like back in gym? Of course you don't. What am I saying?"  
  
"Actually, Ray, we did have-"  
  
"Never mind. See, back then I was this scrawny little kid with big glasses. Always the last to be picked for the team, to find a partner, to do anything. Every time!" Ray jabbed his finger in the air for emphasis. "And how is this any different? Just a big damn meat market," he grumbled.  
  
"Now Ray, I'm sure it won't be that bad. The people here are not children and they will be judging us for our services, not on our appearances."  
  
"Yeah, whatever."  
  
They sat back and watched the preparations. At the far end of the room a tiny stage had been set up, and a microphone stand teetered precariously on the edge. As six-thirty approached, most of the tables and bar space had been taken. Fraser recognized several people from the 27th Precinct, people who attended church with the Veccios, and some detectives from the 16th Precinct he had worked with in the past. Turnbull was also there. One of the tallest people in the room, he stood to one side laughing with Francesca. Ray followed Fraser's gaze and broke off his mantra recitation.  
  
"So...was Inspector Thatcher planning on showing up?" he asked slyly.  
  
"Erm, I believe she may have mentioned it in passing." Fraser reached up to tug on his collar, only to realize that he was in civilian clothes and so didn't really have one.  
  
"Hmm."  
  
Ray resumed his mantra. Fraser thought it sounded suspiciously like, "Kick `em in the head," but it was difficult to be certain. He was mumbling. Meanwhile a few name-tagged suits worked their way to the stage.  
  
"Ray!" Both men turned.  
  
"Hey, Samantha!" Ray smiled for the first time that day. "How ya doing?"  
  
"Good evening, Detective Paterson," Fraser said politely.  
  
The redhead grinned, and ducked under a huge bowl of balled melon that someone was carrying waiter-style. "I heard that someone had gotten you two up on the block. I just had to see for myself. Oh," she stopped. "You guys know my daughter, Nicole?"  
  
"Yep," Ray peered into the mass of clothing Samantha was carrying. "Hey, Nicky. How are you? Boy, you sure are bundled up!"  
  
"Hi, Way," she answered. Sam unzipped her tiny coat to reveal a windbreaker. "It's cold out there," she said to Fraser defensively, shifting the child to her other hip.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Ah? What's this `ah'?"  
  
"Well," Fraser explained, "I was merely using it-"  
  
"Fraser," Ray interrupted.  
  
"Understood." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Oh, I think I see the Leftenant. If you'll excuse me..." The two detectives watched his retreat.  
  
"So," Ray started.  
  
"So...Nicky, if you keep wiggling I'll have to put you down."  
  
"I can hold `er if ya want."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah. C'mon" he stuck out his arms. Sam passed her over and the three- year-old immediately began sucking on her thumb contentedly.  
  
"What are you auctioning off?"  
  
"Any odd jobs," Ray answered. "Except windows. We're not washing windows. Well, Fraser will probably be back the next day to do them for free, but I won't."  
  
"Well, it's too bad you're at the end. That's a good deal. You might go kinda cheap." There was a suspicious twinkle in her eye.  
  
"The end? How'd you find that out? Where'd you get that?" He plucked the program out of her hand and looked at it. Sure enough, he and Fraser would be playing the last act. That sucked.  
  
"I guess we got a long time to wait then." He swung Nicky around. She giggled. "Can I get you ladies a drink?"  
  
  
  
Fraser had lost sight of Welsh almost as soon as he had left the table. The room was packed with people, some of them quite obviously well off. As he was calculating the amount of money that could be gained for the Children's Hospital, he tripped over a trash can that had appeared apparently out of nowhere.  
  
"Fraser!"  
  
He regained his balance and stood up straight. "Inspector!"  
  
"At ease, Constable. We are off-duty, after all." They stood for a moment, staring at each other. "How are you, Fraser?" Meg asked formally.  
  
"Uh...I'm, uh, quite well, thank you, sir. And you?"  
  
"I'm doing fine, thank you. So, Fraser-"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"What service are you volunteering tonight?" she asked, as if she hadn't spent hours plotting and planning for this very occasion.  
  
"Anything that the bidder needs done. Except windows. Detective Kowalski has said he will not wash windows, and remains quite adamant about it, almost to an excessive degree. I almost wonder if something occurred during his childhood to result in his current-"  
  
"Fraser."  
  
"Sorry sir. Um, if I may ask, are you looking for someone?"  
  
"Yes, actually. I am trying to find Detective Paterson. Have you by chance seen her tonight?"  
  
"Yes, she arrived earlier. She and her daughter are sitting towards the front with Detective Kowalski."  
  
"Ah. Perhaps I'll just speak with her later."  
  
"Hmm." Fraser was looking the crowed bar.  
  
"Are you trying to find someone, Fraser?" Meg asked.  
  
"Uh, no. I was attempting to locate an unoccupied table, but it appears that there are none. Oh. There's Turnbull." The big man was standing up and waving his arms in the air. After getting their attention, he then made elaborate signs, indicating they should sit with him. "Shall we?"  
  
"Certainly. It appears they're starting."  
  
The room quieted. First up on the stage were the meals. Or rather, the people who would cook them. Then Welsh's cheesecake, plates of cookies and bread and the massive melon salad made an appearance. It didn't take long for the cheap items to disappear. Before long, Huey, Dewey, Francesca, and Turnbull were auctioned off--Francesca's baby-sitting being the highest to go at a hundred and fifty dollars.  
  
"And finally tonight we have Constable Benton Fraser from the Canadian Consulate and Detective Ray Kowalski from the 27th Precinct. They've offered to do any odd jobs you might have-I beg your pardon?"  
  
Ray repeated it. The lady nodded. "Except windows. This is a great deal, ladies and gentlemen. For one bid you'll get twice as much. Let's start off at twenty-five dollars-any takers?"  
  
Fraser and Ray stood stiffly on stage-Fraser because he was trying to represent Canada well, and Ray because he was petrified. What if the bidding went no higher than twenty-five? It made him feel five feel tall again.  
  
"I see a twenty-five," the lady was saying, "Thirty-five anyone? Yes, to the lady in the back. How about forty-five. Great, I have a forty-five. Do I have a fifty-five?"  
  
All right, maybe he would survive.  
  
Through the glare of lights, Fraser thought he could see his superior officer waving frantically. Then he realized it was semaphore.  
  
"R-E-L-A-X-Y-O-U-L-O-O-K-L-I-K-E-A-C-I-G-A-R-S-T-O-R-E-I-N-D-I-A-N" she signed. And then she noticed the people looking curiously at her, and returned to her seat.  
  
He relaxed. Next to him, Ray started to fidget.  
  
"A hundred and fifteen? Over there, thank you, ma'am. Do I have a hundred and twenty-five? Yes I do. A hundred and thirty-five?"  
  
Ray crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Nicky, sitting on her mom's lap in the front, removed her finger from her nose long enough to giggle.  
  
The lights on the stage were getting very warm. Ray removed his jacket passed it and Fraser's down to Sam for safe-keeping.  
  
"Two hundred and fifty!" someone from the back yelled. Fraser smiled, pretty sure that the bidding would end with this amount. However, he was surprised when a voice that sounded suspiciously like the Inspector's yell back, "Three-hundred!"  
  
"Is anyone willing to beat three hundred? Three hundred and ten, anybody?"  
  
The room held its collective breath. Fraser and Ray scanned the crowd. A hand shot up. Ray grinned. Fraser raised his eyebrows.  
  
The bidding was now between the people in the business suits. Even Meg had to drop out after three hundred and fifty.  
  
"Hey, Frase," Ray whispered, "Betcha we can get this crowd up to five hundred?"  
  
"Really, Ray, I think that's a little unlikely," he said out the corner of his mouth, "Wishful thinking, in fact."  
  
"No, I got a plan. When I give the signal, we both take our shirts off."  
  
This was so different from anything Fraser had expected his partner to say that he turned to stare at him. "Take our shirts off?" he repeated incredulously. "Have you lost your mind, Ray?"  
  
"No! You remember how you said they wouldn't be judging how we looked?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Well you're wrong. This is a America. Appearances are everything."  
  
"But-"  
  
"And you remember that thing you asked me never to tell Thatcher?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Well, if you don't do this..."  
  
"Ray! That's completely unethical!"  
  
"What do ethics gotta do with charity?"  
  
"Well, strictly speaking, everything."  
  
"I'll do it, Fraser," he threatened.  
  
"Oh, all right. On your signal?" Ray nodded.  
  
Fraser took a deep bracing breath just as the bidding moved up to four thirty. Things were slowing down.  
  
"Do I have a four forty? No? Well..."  
  
Ray nodded at Fraser, and pulled off his own t-shirt. Fraser carefully unbuttoned his flannel shirt and then slipped out of it.  
  
"And the undershirt!" Ray hissed, feeling a little silly.  
  
"Oh. Right."  
  
The reaction, albeit delayed, was exactly what Ray had expected. Fraser slipped back to attention, hoping it would make him feel a little less embarrassed. It didn't. Ray crossed his arms, waiting. Then he grinned broadly when one last person yelled out, "Five hundred!"  
  
"Sold!" the slightly hysterical auctioneer screamed, bringing the gavel down.  
  
"Ray, I feel ridiculous."  
  
"Yeah, me too."  
  
"Would you really have told the Inspector?"  
  
"Nah. I promised, didn't I?"  
  
"So there really isn't any reason for me to be standing half-naked in front of a room full of people?"  
  
"Nope. But hey, ya made Frannie's year."  
  
"I still think this was silly."  
  
"Yeah?" Ray waited for the buyer approach. "Well, you did it for a good cause, Frase."  
  
"That's true. Um, Ray?"  
  
"Yeah, Frase?"  
  
"Have you seen my shirt? I was certain I left it right here..."  
  
  
  
The End 


End file.
